


Mr. Hale

by MellytheHun



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, M/M, Student Stiles, Teacher Derek, Tumblr Prompt, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 15:37:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3073208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MellytheHun/pseuds/MellytheHun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I got this prompt on tumblr; "STEREK / BOARDING SCHOOL AU - LOVE & LUST AT FIRST SIGHT <3"<br/>This AU got a little out of hand and now it's long and angsty? What happened here</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mr. Hale

**Author's Note:**

> Later on, Stiles has a panic attack, but it is not written about in great detail.

**Sophomore Year**

* * *

 

"Mr. Hale?"

 

Derek closes his eyes, gathering his patience. He takes a deep breath, turns his head, opening his eyes and looks to Stiles at his classroom doorway.

 

"What."

 

"Aw, don't be so cold, dude," Stiles grins, walking further into the room, "Aren't I your favorite student?"

 

"Boyd is my favorite student," Derek admits just to get a reaction.

 

Stiles' jaw drops and he sounds genuinely offended when he argues, "Oh my God, that's so unfair! He doesn't even interact with you!"

 

"Exactly," Derek replies.

 

Stiles slips his satchel off his shoulder and onto one of the desk tops. He adjusts his uniform tie and pulls at the hem of his sweater vest. He brings a notebook over to Derek's desk, where Derek is sitting and _had_ been grading tests in content silence. 

 

"I need help in Chemistry."

 

"You had me for _English Lit_... _last year_ , Stiles," Derek tells him exhaustedly, for what must be the fiftieth time. 

 

"I also have goldfish and drank minutemaid lemonade every day of my life for the entirety of the third grade."

 

Derek quirks a misunderstanding brow and Stiles smirks, "I thought we were naming shit that doesn't matter."

 

Derek scowls while Stiles gives a chuckle. He concedes and snatches the notebook from Stiles, looking over his notes. He flips through a page or two and while he's gathering an understanding, he asks,

 

"Why aren't you bringing this to your Chemistry teacher, Stiles?"

 

"No one helps me as well as you do," Stiles tells him cheerily, "Plus, he doesn't have a chiseled jaw or even a full head of hair. Totally rough on the eyes."

 

Derek tries not to smile, because as obnoxious as Stilinski is, Derek is bizarrely fond of him. He decides it's safest not to respond to the comment and he hears Stiles ask shyly and sadly,

 

"Is Boyd really your favorite?"

 

"Yes," Derek answers readily, then he points to a lone chair and says, "Bring that over and I'll walk you through this."

 

Stiles sighs, defeated, grumbling while dragging the chair over,

 

"So unfair. _Boyd_ didn't bake you cupcakes for your birthday."

 

"Boyd didn't know when my birthday is," Derek explains, "Something I deeply appreciate."

 

Stiles rolls his eyes and falls into the chair, too close to Derek. Close enough that Derek can smell Stiles’ softener and whatever body wash he uses. While Derek is readying his pen against the paper, Stiles asks,

 

"So, I'm your second favorite?"

 

"Isaac is my second favorite."

 

"This is bullshit!" Stiles all but shrieks, "Am I at least in your top ten?"

 

Derek can't stop the malicious smile that spreads over his face at teasing Stiles (Stiles gets so focused and invested, he makes it so easy for Derek to mess with him). Derek looks up at Stiles from behind his glasses, screws his face up like he's compromising in his head and responds doubtfully,

 

"Eh. Top fifty."

 

"Fifty!?" Stiles exclaims, "You are so unappreciative!"

 

Derek smirks at him and then moves his attention to the notebook. He opens his mouth to start explaining the significance of protons, but Stiles interrupts by softly saying,

 

"Well, you're my favorite teacher."

 

Derek shuts his mouth and meets Stiles' eyes again. Stiles nods and adds,

 

"Hands down."

 

Derek works on extinguishing the warm, fluttery feeling Stiles so often gives him before he asks,

 

"Is that based on my teaching ability, or my jaw?"

 

Stiles' smile is broad and sincere when he answers lightheartedly,

 

"Can't it be both?"

 

Derek rolls his eyes and resists staring at the bob of Stiles' adam's apple.

 

* * *

 

"Mr. Hale!" Stiles' voice carries through the hall.

 

Derek stops in his tracks, slumping his shoulders in resignation. He sighs and turns around to find Stiles running towards him, a few loose papers flying out from the bundle of books in his arms (which his friend, Scott, is trying to catch). Stiles skids to a halt in front of him and his hair is a little mussed, his eyes bright and smile excited.

 

"What shit have you just gotten up to?"

 

Stiles beams the way he always does when Derek curses in front of him. (Which has only happened three times before; twice in Stiles’ freshman year and once before this instance. The first time Derek had said “Shit, I forgot my red pens,” and Stiles had erupted in laughter. The second time, Derek had been struggling with a stuck drawer in his desk and he’d muttered, “This stupid fuckin’ block of wood,” and Stiles had been thrilled. The third time had been a few weeks prior to this meeting, when Derek had been hung over and told Stiles he “need(ed) some fucking coffee,” before he’d be prepared to deal with Stiles’ company.)

 

Stiles shakes his head, a little short of breath and says,

 

"Nothing, I swear! I've just been looking for you everywhere!"

 

Derek's brows pinch and he asks suspiciously,

 

"Why?"

 

Scott is still a few feet behind Stiles, picking up papers that have flown and slid away. There are students still walking through the hall, consumed in conversations or on their phones, making Scott’s job harder.

 

Stiles rolls his eyes like it's the most obvious thing in the world,

 

"Christmas break, Mr. Hale! I had to see you before you left! I won't get to harass you during your extra help hours for two whole weeks! Won't you miss me?"

 

Derek gives him a dry look and says, "No."

 

Stiles makes a 'tch' sound, like he doesn't believe Derek and then says,

 

"Oh! Wait! I got something for you!"

 

"You don't have to - " but then Stiles is shoving his books into Derek's chest.

 

He reflexively grabs onto the pile of books while Stiles goes digging through his satchel. He pulls out a gift-wrapped something and extends his arm out. He realizes again that Derek's hands are busy, holding his things, so he takes the pile of books back and awkwardly hands the gift to Derek with his fingers.

 

Derek examines the blue and white wrapping paper and knows by the familiar weight that it must be a book. He cocks a brow and asks,

 

"This isn't a copy of _Lolita_ , is it?"

 

Stiles throws his head back in a sharp, honest laugh. Scott moves next to him, sorting papers in his hands as Stiles recovers and says,

 

"Oh, God, no, but that would've been funny."

 

"What would've been funny?" Scott asks, looking to Stiles.

 

Stiles looks back at him, still smiling and says, "Nothing, Scotty, Mr. Hale's just casually dismissing my infatuation."

 

Scott turns his eyes to Derek and says, "I commend you for your patience, Mr. Hale."

 

"Nothing compared to yours, I’m sure," He tells Scott, making him chuckle.

 

Stiles looks affronted and defends, "I am a goddamn pleasure. You both suck."

 

Derek smirks and, feeling charitable, offers,

 

"Stiles. Why don’t you walk me to my car?”

 

Stiles' eyes positively sparkle, his cheeks turning pinkish and his face melting into a gigantic smile. He nods vigorously and answers,

 

"Holy -- yes! Totally! I will _do_ that!"

 

He hands Scott his books and Scott stands there looking sort of helplessly confused as Stiles tells him,

 

"I'll be back -- like, super fast, dude! Thank you!"

 

He moves next to Derek and Derek nods his departure to Scott, saying,

 

"Happy holidays, Scott."

 

"You too, Mr. Hale."

 

Derek turns and glances beside him as he's walking to peer at Stiles. He's visibly nervous, but looking awfully excited and Derek smiles to himself, though he doesn't know why. They descend three stone staircases, passing hoards of students; some with suitcases, some in ugly holiday sweaters, some in uniform, some looking desolate and some looking eager and happy. As they cross through one of the courtyards, towards the teacher's lodging, Derek mentions,

 

"I've never been in your company this long without you speaking."

 

Stiles looks surprised at that and says, "I, uh -- sorry. I mean, I'm not -- I dunno. I'm nervous?"

 

Derek shakes his head fondly and asks, "Are you going home for the holidays? Spending time with family?"

 

"Yeah," Stiles answers, grinning, already forgetting his nervousness, "I haven't seen my dad for months! I'm really excited!"

 

"Good," Derek smiles casually.

 

"What about you?" Stiles inquires innocuously. 

 

Derek keeps his expression as stoic as he can when he replies,

 

"I don't have a family."

 

Stiles’ brow furrows and he turns his face towards Derek when he asks,

 

“Bad blood?”

 

“Spilled blood,” Derek corrects.

 

At Stiles’ lost expression, he explains, “There was a fire when I was sixteen.”

 

“Holy shit,” Stiles breathes, “Are – I mean, where are you going, then?”

 

Derek shrugs, thankful for Stiles moving off the topic, and says, “I have a friend, in my hometown. He invites me every year and I stay for a few days.”

 

“Oh,” Stiles starts, voice edged with possessiveness, “He, uh, just a friend?”

 

Derek makes a soft laughing sound as they walk off the campus and onto the teacher’s lodging area. He guides them towards his cabin and he says,

 

“Yes, Stiles. We went to high school and college together.”

 

“Aw man!” Stiles whines, “He got to see you all acne ridden and lanky? That’s not fair!”

 

“I was never acne ridden,” Derek tells him.

 

“But you were lanky? I can’t even imagine it,” Stiles smiles.

 

As they come to the side of the cabin, where there’s a narrow drive, Stiles’ eyes widen on a shiny, black Camaro.

 

“Oh, no way.”

 

Derek points his keys at the car and unlocks it with a button; he takes his own satchel and puts it in the passenger seat. He puts Stiles’ gift on the top of his car so he can slip off his glasses and tuck them into his shirt pocket and undo his tie. Stiles runs his hand over the back of the Camaro reverently and blows a low whistle.

 

“Dang,” He says, “That is a nice ride, Mr. Hale.”

 

Derek throws his tie on top of his satchel in the passenger seat, unbuttons the first three buttons of his shirt and says,

 

“It gets me to where I’m going.”

 

“You are so fuckin’ blasé about everything, how do – “

 

Stiles’ train of thought is cut off when he sees Derek with his glasses off, rolling the sleeves of his collared shirt up to his elbows. Derek cocks a brow at him and asks,

 

“What?”

 

Stiles gapes like a fish for a second, but eventually recovers enough to inquire,

 

“Won’t you need your glasses to drive?”

 

Derek shakes his head and replies,

 

“No. Just need them for small print.”

 

Stiles stiffens when Derek goes to pick up his gift and open it. Stiles throws his hands out and says,

 

“Oh! Uhm – wait! Don’t open it while I’m here!”

 

Derek cocks a curious brow and Stiles swallows loudly.

 

“I get embarrassed,” Stiles elaborates, “Just, uh… open it when I can’t see you.”

 

Derek nods his agreement and Stiles gives a shaky smile, still radiating flirtatious nervousness.

 

“Uhm, so, happy holidays?”

 

Derek nears Stiles again, can almost hear Stiles’ heart pounding. He holds the gift in his left hand while he pulls Stiles into a friendly hug with his right arm. He ruffles Stiles’ hair when he moves back and he says,

 

“Happy holidays, Stiles.”

 

When Derek opens the gift in his car, he finds a beat up copy of Sense and Sensibility. A sticky note on the inside of the wrapping paper says;

_This was my mom’s favorite book. I think I’ve read this book over ten times. I thought about getting you a new copy, but I don’t think it means as much. I know you’re super anal about dog-eared pages, but I like books to look like they’ve been loved. This is definitely my most loved book. Don’t give it back to me and don’t tell me I shouldn’t give you something like this. Just keep it, please._

_\- Stiles_

 

Another sticky note underneath that one reads;

 

_BTW I passed Chem because of you!_

 

* * *

 

**Junior Year**

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey, Mr. Hale!”

 

Derek walks into his classroom and sighs, a smile threatening the corners of his mouth.

 

“Perfect,” He mutters sarcastically.

 

Stiles grins at him from a front row desk, closest to Derek’s desk. Scott is seated next to him, a young brunette girl beside Scott on his other side.

 

“Dude, homeroom is gonna be awesome!” Stiles beams, smacking Scott’s shoulder.

 

Scott shakes his head, smiling while Derek puts his folders and satchel down on his desk. There are fifteen teenagers in his room and he only knows four of them from past classes. He takes out the roster and listens to the brunette girl ask,

 

“Why, Stiles?”

 

“Allison,” Stiles starts kindly, “This is Mr. Hale! He’s my favorite teacher of all time!”

 

Derek meets her eyes and gives her a tired expression, making her giggle. Stiles doesn’t see the exchange, so he argues,

 

“Really! Spectacular! His got hair like Prince Eric, eyes like the ocean after a storm, if it rained gold, the snazziest ties and shiniest shoes, cheekbones carved like – “

 

“Stiles,” Derek sighs like a warning.

 

Stiles grins at him excitedly, “Yes, sir?”

 

Derek is immediately concerned with how interested his body is at the sound of Stiles calling him ‘sir.’ He glares so he can say he tried.

 

“Are you going to be a problem?”

 

“How is that even a question?” Stiles asks, “I am _always_ a problem.”

 

Scott snorts and Derek ducks his head down to hide his smirk. He can feel Stiles silently gloating, though.

 

* * *

 

“Mr. Hale?” Stiles calls.

 

Derek looks up from his paperwork to see Stiles looking over a copy of _Les Mis_ _érables_ with Allison. Scott is working on what looks like algebra homework beside her, holding his forehead and looking haunted.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Can you help us?”

 

“What do you need help with?”

 

Stiles gestures to the book they’re looking at together and he says,

 

“Allison needs to write a persuasive paper about the relationship between Éponine and Marius. I think it should be anti-Éponine, but she doesn’t have an opinion on it.”

 

“That’s not true,” Allison says, looking to Derek, “I just don’t know that I want to demonize her.”

 

“She was evil,” Stiles argues, “She was never a good person and Marius may have been naïve at times, but he didn’t deserve her to happen to him.”

 

Derek intervenes when Allison opens her mouth, asking,

 

“Have you finished the book?”

 

Allison shakes her head and Derek looks to Stiles, asking,

 

“Have you?”

 

“No,” Stiles replies.

 

Derek nods and scratches at some of the stubble on the square of his jaw. He explains,

 

“Well, there are a lot of things you can say about Éponine. Perhaps she was evil, maybe she never really knew love at all and Marius would have been miserable with her. There’s reason to believe, though, that Éponine had changed from her childhood. Maybe they could have loved each other.”

 

“What?” Stiles exclaims, sounding scandalized, “No! Éponine was a huge bitch! She was just as bad as her parents!”

 

Allison looks to Stiles and says, “She wasn’t as bad as her parents! She was selfish, but she sacrificed herself to save Marius! She kept the burglars from looting Valjean’s house!”

 

“She sat by while Cosette was abused and she was a gross, self-consumed, greedy product of her environment,” Stiles explains, “Marius and Cosette were meant to be together. I don’t even think Marius should’ve given Éponine the kiss she asked for.”

 

“Oh, Stiles,” Allison chides, “That’s so cruel! It was her dying wish!”

 

“How long a sentence was she meant to serve for her sins, Stiles?” Derek asks.

 

Stiles looks to him and Derek takes his glasses off, leaning further on his desk to better look into Stiles’ eyes.

 

“You sound like Javert.”

 

“I do not!” Stiles defends.

 

“We forgive Valjean for his earlier discretions because he ‘redeems’ himself,” Derek elaborates, “We don’t forgive him based on anything other than what he accomplishes once he’s matured enough to do the right thing. He makes many mistakes before then, though. Can’t you say the same about Éponine? She made mistakes, but matured enough to start redeeming herself.”

 

“No,” Stiles answers readily, “Valjean was always good! He was always trying to help people!”

 

“Except when he steals that forty-sous coin from a defenseless twelve-year old boy,” Derek retorts.

 

“Oh, come on!” Stiles whines.

 

“It’s true, though,” Allison tells Stiles, “He’s right. Éponine is like Valjean that way – she just didn’t get the chance to completely redeem herself. She still got Cosette’s address to him and that was genuinely good of her.”

 

“She was just doing it so that he wouldn’t be mad at her!” Stiles insists, “It wasn’t about doing something good for him or Cosette, it was about protecting any chance she had of getting what she wanted.”

 

“She was dying!” Allison asserts.

 

“The question isn’t whether or not Éponine should have been with Marius,” Derek tells them, “The question is whether or not Éponine deserved forgiveness.”

 

Stiles and Allison fall quiet and Derek adds,

 

“Marius isn’t all that important in what you’re writing about. What you should contemplate is whether or not she is forgiven.”

 

“That’s such bullshit,” Stiles complains.

 

Derek slips his glasses back on and goes back to grading papers when he says,

 

“We are all imperfect, Stiles. Everyone makes mistakes.”

 

He feels Stiles’ eyes on him for the rest of the homeroom period.

 

* * *

 

“Oh! Mr. Hale!” Stiles’ familiar voice calls.

 

Derek turns around in the empty courtyard to see Stiles jogging up to him, wearing a tiara and smiling warmly. He’s out of uniform, in jeans and converse, a solid red t-shirt and his hair is floppy and a little messy. The tiara is sparkling in the moonlight. Derek feels his heart rate go up and he masks it with a longsuffering eye roll.

 

“Stiles,” He greets.

 

“You weren’t in homeroom this morning!”

 

Derek tilts his head and asks, “Did you just run down from your dorm room?”

 

Stiles pulls on the hem of his shirt anxiously and shrugs, “I, uh. Why weren’t you in class?”

 

Derek’s mouth twitches up, feeling aggravatingly fond. He tells Stiles,

 

“I had a meeting.”

 

They’re silent for a few beats until Stiles grins and asks,

 

“When are you gonna ask about the tiara?”

 

“I’m not gonna ask about the tiara,” Derek states.

 

“Ask about it, bro,” Stiles challenges.

 

“I don’t want to know about the tiara,” Derek smirks.

 

“It’s my birthday,” Stiles says softly, “I’m seventeen.”

 

Derek wonders then if Stiles had run down from his dormitory because he’d seen Derek from the hall window that overlooks the courtyard. He wonders if Stiles was very upset all day that he hadn’t gotten to see Derek.

 

“Happy birthday, Stiles,” Derek tells him.

 

“Thank you,” Stiles smiles, tucking his hands in his back pockets.

 

A little bit of quiet crawls between them while Stiles’ eyes glisten with things he wants to say and his body moves minutely with nervous energy. Derek assumes inoffensively,

 

“You’d like something.”

 

Stiles jugular vein bounces at the suggestion and he admits sheepishly,

 

“Well, I mean… a tiny bit.”

 

Derek’s heart bumps at what he’s inspired to do and he battles himself for a few stressful inner moments. He nods his head to the side for Stiles to follow him and he starts walking behind one of the buildings that faces empty field usually used for athletic events. He turns to face Stiles once they’re standing still and flickers his eyes over Stiles’ curious expression. He takes his glasses off, tucks them into his shirt pocket and steps close into Stiles’ space.

 

Stiles’ intakes sharply when Derek takes Stiles’ hands in his. He leans in, angles his head and kisses Stiles’ cheek with gentle purpose. He moves his face across Stiles’, just brushing the tips of their noses for a brief moment, to press another kiss onto Stiles’ other cheek, before backing away. He releases Stiles’ hands and admires the curl of Stiles’ dark lashes while he leans against the building, eyes shut and body slack. His eyes slide open and gaze into Derek’s, full of longing and reverence.

 

Derek goes to ruffle Stiles’ hair, but he pauses a moment too long, more petting his hand over Stiles’ head than ruffling. He smiles and mutters,

 

“Happy birthday, Stiles.”

 

* * *

 

 

**Senior Year**

 

* * *

 

 

“Mr. H-Hale?” Stiles stammers from behind the bathroom stall.

 

Derek had been warned by Scott that Stiles was in the boy’s room, having a panic attack. He had left his third period sophomore English class to dart into the boy’s room and find him. He moved to stand outside the bathroom stall from which he heard Stiles’ voice and there he works his jaw nervously, unsure if he’s able to help.

 

He answers,

 

“I’m here, Stiles. Can you tell me what’s happening?”

 

He hears Stiles’ voice, familiar, but foreign with tears. The shaky vulnerability makes Derek’s stomach churn.

 

“I’ve just – it’s – I was – it’s dumb, this is d-dumb, it’s not – “

 

“It’s not,” Derek tells him, “No matter what it is, Stiles.”

 

He hears Stiles’ breaths coming in shallow and quick. He wants desperately to break down the door to the stall, but he waits, telling himself that patience with Stiles has always gotten him what he needed.

 

“I – I got written up. Third time this semester.”

 

Derek knows there are unpleasant penalties for that, so he avoids mentioning it and asks,

 

“What did you do?”

 

“C-cursed out Jackson Whittemore.”

 

Derek snorts without meaning to and he hears Stiles give a hesitant little laugh. The stress in the air starts to lessen just slightly and so Derek says,

 

“Well, I’m already positive he deserved it.”

 

Stiles does give a surer laugh at that, but his voice is still watery when he replies,

 

“He did, but when my dad finds out…”

 

Derek slants his mouth at the door in sympathetic understanding, though Stiles can’t see it. He requests,

 

“Hey, do you think you could open the door?”

 

“No,” Stiles responds, cagey, “No. I don’t want you to see me when I’m all…”

 

Derek’s brain sends to his mouth, ‘Nonsense, I love you,’ but he stops that statement before it can escape his lips. It makes his heart drop eerily inside him, wondering how long it’s been since he lost control of whatever his relationship was with Stiles. He thinks he’ll have to resign.

 

“I don’t have to have my eyes open,” Derek offers, “I’ll keep my eyes closed. I just want to know that you’re safe.”

 

Stiles doesn’t answer, so Derek takes it as wary consent. He shuts his eyes and braces the stall with an arm on either side, keeping his head up. He announces,

 

“My eyes are shut and I’m directly outside the door.”

 

He hears the lock slide out of place and the next thing he knows is that Stiles is a hot, solid grip around him. He’s quivering with embarrassed, anxious tears and holding Derek’s torso tightly. Derek lets his arms fall from the stall and gather around Stiles’ shoulders. He tucks Stiles’ head under his chin and keeps his eyes closed. He pets his hand over the back of Stiles’ hair and says,

 

“It’s okay. You’re safe. I’m right here.”

 

He doesn’t think Stiles means to say it out loud, but he hears him repeat almost inaudibly,

 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.”

 

* * *

 

“Mr. Hale,” Stiles chides like a mother.

 

Derek watches Stiles walk up to him in the hall, smiling at the coffee stain Derek has created on his tie. He starts taking off his own tie and asks,

 

“What would you do without me?”

 

Derek stares as Stiles dexterous hands work his stained tie loose and off, his pulse booming in his ears.

 

“You’d be lost, is the answer,” Stiles says jokingly.

 

Stiles drapes Derek’s tie over his shoulder and loops his own tie around Derek’s neck, flipping up the collar of Derek’s shirt and tying it kindly. He’s about Derek’s height now, his beauty marks are dark against the pale of his skin and his lips are full and far too close. Stiles mentions,

 

“You should wear your Slytherin tie to graduation.”

 

“My Slytherin tie?” Derek asks, focused on the fine hairs by Stiles’ wrists.

 

“You know, it’s green with silver on it.”

 

Derek pretends he doesn’t know that it’s the first tie Stiles ever saw him in, back when he was teaching freshman English. Once Stiles knots the tie and lets his hands fall away, he tells Stiles,

 

“I won’t be at graduation.”

 

Stiles’ eyes go wide and worried, his brows curving in sadly,

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Derek points with his chin to the headmaster’s office door and admits,

 

“I’m resigning.”

 

Stiles’ face contorts into anger and his eyes are rushed with betrayal. His shoulders hunch defensively and he exclaims,

 

“Resign!? You can’t resign!”

 

Derek opens his mouth, calmly, ready to soothe Stiles, but Stiles pushes at his chest and orders,

 

“Don’t! Don’t!”

 

He begs, “Is this because of me? Is this my fault?”

 

“No,” Derek insists, though Stiles looks furious and disbelieving, “It’s not your fault. It’s my fault.”

 

“Seriously?” Stiles scoffs, “You’re using the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ bit? Christ.”

 

“Stiles,” Derek starts, but Stiles drops his head and shows Derek his hand to stop him.

 

Before anything else can be said, Stiles turns and storms off in a rush.

 

* * *

 

“Stiles,” Derek greets.

 

Stiles leans on the threshold of his classroom, the hallway behind him deserted and silent. He picks his head up, arms still crossed defensively and mutters,

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Derek is clearing the papers and knickknacks off his desk, a trashcan full of papers by his feet. He sits up straighter, allowing his focus to fall only on Stiles and his uncertain posture.

 

“Don’t be,” Derek tells him.

 

Stiles frowns down at his wrists while he drops his arms and rubs at them absently. He walks into the classroom, allowing the door to fall shut behind him. He leans against that shut door and asks,

 

“Are you skipping town?”

 

“No,” Derek answers, “I’ll be leaving after graduation.”

 

Stiles looks up at him curious, unsure and Derek adds, “They don’t want to make a scene.”

 

Stiles’ brows turn in again and he asks,

 

“This really is my fault, isn’t it?”

 

“Me loving you is not your fault.”

 

Stiles’ head shoots up, eyes wide and sparkling with that familiar, nervous energy that Derek has so grown to admire. He sighs, gesturing at his desk,

 

“Although it is absolutely your fault that I hardly ever got my grading in on time.”

 

Stiles’ mouth quirks up, still hanging open and he looks beautiful and a little ridiculous to Derek. Stiles walks further into the room, crossing over to Derek to stand in front of him. He moves to stand between Derek’s spread knees and looks down at Derek’s open expression. He pinches the bridge of Derek’s glasses and takes them off, putting them on the desk. He asks,

 

“You love me?”

 

Derek nods.

 

Stiles’ hands come to his face, raking through his hair and sending shivers down his back. He shuts his eyes, tilting his head more into the press of Stiles’ hands, listening to Stiles’ breath. He feels Stiles’ throw one leg over Derek’s and then opens his eyes to watch Stiles throw over the other. He settles into Derek’s lap, straddling him and moving against him closely. He wraps his arms around Derek’s broad shoulders and asks,

 

“Does that mean I can finally kiss you?”

 

Derek doesn’t offer an answer, just leans up and presses his mouth against Stiles’ waiting lips. He hears and feels Stiles intake sharply, feels Stiles’ broad hands come to frame his face as his go to Stiles’ waist. Long, languid minutes fly by them while Stiles’ moans into Derek’s mouth and Derek loses his breath kissing in way he hasn’t since he was in high school himself.

 

“Wait,” Stiles gasps.

 

Derek pauses, pulling away enough to take in Stiles’ mussed hair, his kiss-swollen lips and rosy face and ears. He looks into Stiles’ eyes and they glitter mischievously in a way Derek knows and loves and he asks,

 

“Can I call you Derek?”

 

Derek’s mouth spreads into a grin and he answers,

 

“That or ‘sir’ will do.”

 

Stiles laughs and presses his lips against Derek’s when he says,

 

“Then I love you, Derek.”

 

 


End file.
